I'll See Your Heart
by MsBarrows
Summary: Written for the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang, to accompany a fan mix created by lafemmedarla of Tumblr.
1. The First Time

Isabela sat upright in the tent, leaning a bit to one side so as not to touch the rain-wet canvas, and tried to dig the cork out of the bottle of rum she had in one hand with the tip of her dagger. She swore as a chunk of cork broke free and bounced off the canvas on the other side of the tent, the remainder of the cork moving not at all.

"Give me that before you stab one of us with that dagger," Fenris said sharply, frowning as he leaned over and reached to take the bottle from her hand. A brief pulse of his tattoos, and he was dropping the cork to the floor of the tent and passing the bottle back to her.

"Thank you," she said, and smiled warmly at him. "That trick never gets old."

Fenris snorted, then turned his back to her, curling up in his blanket.

"Sure you wouldn't like some of this?" Isabela asked, wiggling the bottle back and forth in his general direction as she leaned back against the rest she'd made at one end of her bedroll, using her and his backpacks.

"I prefer wine," he said.

"I may have wine as well. Not that fancy-pants Tevinter stuff you drink, but a nice fruit wine," she said. Not entirely truthfully, the only relationship between the bottle of applejack in her pack and wine being that they both started out as fermented fruit. "You'll like it, it's made from apples."

Another snort and then silence was Fenris' only answer. Isabela suppressed a sigh. Stuck in a small tent in the rain on the Wounded Coast and it had to be with Ser Broody-Pants, while Hawke claimed Anders' much more scintillating company. She smiled, remembering a use of his magic to which the term _scintillating_ was particularly applicable. If only she could convince him to apply that particular magic to her once again, now that she'd recognized him as the charming young mage she'd met in Ferelden some years before. Sadly much of the charm was gone now, though at least he still talked a good game, even if he seemed to have misplaced his libido along with the charm. But at least he'd talk, and be entertaining company, even if nothing actually happened beyond a little teasing banter.

Fenris, on the other hand... she really did sigh now. He was at least easy on the eyes, even if he didn't like being openly admired any more than he liked ever being touched. And he had such pretty eyes... they'd been one of the first things she ever noticed about him. Not the very first of course; there'd been the arrogant walk, the white hair, the pale lines etched into light brown skin that flashed to blue-white brightness a moment later, the way he'd sunk his hand into that mercenary's chest and casually ripped out his heart... but then he'd turned back to Hawke, lowered black brows and bright green eyes showing for a moment behind the fall of white hair even as his shoulders rounded and back hunched, the earlier confident arrogance vanishing as if it hadn't existed. There'd been something in those lovely green eyes of his, just before he lowered his head... a look. An emotion... _something_. Something oddly familiar, though she couldn't have said what it was.

She'd been fascinated by him ever since, and by the complete transformation he went through between when he was in a battle and when he was in a more social situation. In battle he was like a force of nature; overwhelming, not just in his fighting skills but in the confidence he showed then, having no hesitation or doubts. In social settings – which he avoided like the plague itself – he tended to be silent, withdrawn, prickly, answering in monosyllables much of the time, carrying himself all hunched up and bent down as if trying to occupy the least space in the world that he could. Though when he did speak up – usually some form of confrontation with Anders – he'd straighten, that arrogant walk returning, his speech becoming very precise. A walk and manner of talking he'd learned from watching someone else, she guessed, or been schooled into; it didn't seem to fit easily with the rest of his personality.

Learning a little more of his history later had made sense of the dichotomy; a slave, and the bodyguard of a Tevinter magister, a bodyguard fearsome enough to cow other magisters merely with his presence at his master's back. Superbly trained as a fighter, of course, and as a bodyguard expected to show nothing but disdain for any magister but his own master when on duty, yet he had still a been slave and trained to otherwise be totally subservient.

There was a flash and a long, loud rumble. Fenris started, his marks flashing alight for a moment as he sat up, hands tightening convulsively on his sheets before he regained control of himself. Isabela froze, bottle raised to her lips, then lowered it. "Sure you wouldn't like that bottle?"

He gave her a brief glance over his shoulder, then started as another crack of lightning lit up the tent. "All right," he said hoarsely.

She dug out the bottle of applejack and passed it to him. He removed the cork and took a swig, shuddering and gasping afterwards. "This is not wine," he said. But kept the bottle, and took a second, more cautious drink from it.

"Don't like thunderstorms?" she asked, then slouched into a more comfortable position, watching him.

"No," he said, and shuddered at another flash, his lines briefly glowing blue again. A fascinating sight in the darkened tent.

"No, you do, or no, you don't?"

He remained silent, taking another drink of the applejack, then sighed and lay down again, hand still wrapped around the bottle. "It is not so much that I don't like thunderstorms as what all the flashing and noise remind me of," he said, voice soft enough that she could only just make it out over the drumming of the rain on the canvas overhead.

"Oh?"

Another long silence, before he finally spoke again. "You've seen what it's like when we fight mages; a lot of bright flashes, noise... you're familiar with gaatlock, too. Imagine a war where one side has gaatlock and the other has magisters, many of whom are blood mages. The sounds, the sights, the _smells_..."

"Oh," she said, much more softly, appalled by the scenes she imagined, and certain her imagination was likely not as bad as what he'd actually seen, had lived through, while his master was embroiled in the wars on Seheron.

They both fell silent for a while, drinking and listening to the storm passing overhead. Fenris still shivered or started occasionally, his markings glowing intermittently. The storm began to quiet, the lightning less frequent, the thunder more distant and muted, even the rain slacking off.

"I do sometimes wonder just how far down those markings of yours go," Isabela said, during one of the periods where they were shining softly. The glow immediately winked out again. She grinned at the offended look the elf gave her. "Come now, surely it wouldn't hurt for you to satisfy my curiosity just once?"

Fenris snorted. "Perhaps on some other subject."

"Colour of your underwear?"

"No."

"You're no fun. Hmmm... all right then. Something easy then. Favourite food?"

A long pause. "I don't know," Fenris said after a while.

"How can you not know?" Isabela asked, surprised.

"There are many foods I like. A few I dislike, as well. But none that I would call my favourite."

Isabela snorted. "All right then... favourite drink?"

"Wine. Red wine. Though this... whatever-it-is... is not bad."

"Applejack."

Fenris grunted, and took another sip.

"What else do you like?" Isabela asked.

Fenris suddenly smiled at Isabela, much to her surprise. A _nice_ smile... a rather happy one. "I like_ you_," he said, and then flushed and quickly took another sip from his bottle.

Isabela smiled warmly back at him. "Really? I never would have guessed, the way you act..."

He shrugged, looking embarrassed now, blush deepening. "Why do you think I let you get away with all the things you say me?"

Isabela frowned. "Huh. I suppose it's true you tend to cut off almost everyone else. Except Hawke."

Fenris shrugged again, somehow looking even more embarrassed. "Hawke is Hawke," he said, then looked down at his hands, nervously turning the bottle around and around before darting another glance her direction. "I like you," he repeated quietly. "You're so... free."

Isabela smiled, then set aside her bottle and moved closer to Fenris. He went very still. She hesitated, then leaned forward, brushing a brief kiss across his cheek. "I like you too," she said as quietly, and smiled.

Fenris looked away again, with an odd smile twisting his lips... embarrassed but please, she thought. She remained where she was, sitting beside him, and after a moment he set aside his bottle as well, then turned back to her, meeting her eyes this time, clearly nervous. Then, finally, he slowly leaned toward her, right hand rising to lightly touch her cheek as he neared. She could feel his fingertips trembling slightly, and smiled just before his lips brushed against hers.

It was a delicate, hesitant kiss. The kiss of a novice; of someone who wasn't really certain about how kisses were supposed to go. A sweet kiss; a first kiss. Isabela leaned a little into it, increasing their contact, and let the tip of her tongue slip out to flick lightly along his lips. Fenris twitched away for a moment, startled, then leaned forward and tried again. She lifted one of her own hands to rest lightly on the nape of his neck, keeping the pressure of it light but using it to delicately guide him into tilting his head to a better angle, then deepening the kiss.

Fenris gave a soft little sigh, his mouth opening under hers. She let her tongue take a swift, shallow taste of him, then withdrew it and opened hers in turn. He only hesitated briefly before his tongue slipped into her own mouth, moist tongues sliding briefly against each other before his withdrew again.

His eyes were opened wide, the pupils dark, his breathing a little short. She smiled, and moved to cup his head between both hands, her touch still light. His own hand moved from her cheek, fingertips ghosting along the curve of her lips before withdrawing. She tilted his head just a little, then pressed another kiss to his lips, pleased by the moaning sound he made, his hands coming to rest on either side of her waist.

Lightning cracked nearby, the thunder immediate and loud. Fenris yelped as he jumped in startlement, lines flaring brightly again, almost falling over from the violence of his movement. The look of embarrassment returned. "Sorry," he said hoarsely.

Isabela smiled warmly at him, and reached out to take one of his hands in hers. "Nothing to be sorry for," she said, then sighed, and smiled wistfully at him. "Though I think perhaps we'd better stop now."

Fenris looked disappointed, then started to hunch in on himself, turning his face away from her. "Sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"That's not it," she said, reaching out to touch his arm, waiting until he looked at her again. "If you're still interested when you're _not_ full of applejack, I'd be pleased to continue. I just don't want to do anything right now that either of us regret later. All right?"

He bit his lower lip, looking thoughtful, then suddenly smiled again, looking pleased. "All right," he agreed, and abruptly leaned forward, brushing an kiss across her cheek. "Thank you."

She smiled, and stretched out again on her bedroll, retrieving her bottle of rum and taking a final swallow of it before knocking the remainder of the cork back into it. "You're welcome."

He curled up on his side on his own bedroll, facing toward her, the bottle of applejack cradled against his chest. "Good night," he said softly.

She smiled, and said the same, then closed her eyes, listening to a last few distant rumbles of thunder before she drifted off to sleep.


	2. Next Time

Fenris hesitated in the doorway of Varric's room. Even after all this time he was still not certain how welcome he was with the others, unsure if he _wanted_ to be made welcome, when the group gathered around Varric's table included both Anders and Merrill. Then Isabela looked up and caught sight of him, and smiled warmly at him. "Joining us for Diamondback again?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes," he said, and looked nervously around the circle of faces turning toward him, nodding as politely as he could at Merrill and Anders, exchanging greetings with Varric, Hawke, Aveline and Carver, before finally moving forward and taking the seat across from Isabela, nodding to her, uncertain of what else to say to her.

He had only vague memories of what had happened between them in that tent out on the Wounded Coast some months ago. He'd woken the next morning with confused memories of a thunderstorm, and kisses, the rum-flavoured taste of her mouth, the way her hand had felt when it rested on the nape of his neck. He'd thought at first that perhaps it had merely been a drunken dream – they were, after all, both still fully dressed, and in their own bedrolls – but then she'd woken as well, and smiled sleepily at him, a much warmer smile than he could recall her ever giving him before, and rolled close enough to lightly kiss his cheek before sitting up and reaching for her boots.

"Don't forget what I told you last night," she'd said as she tugged them on, sounding surprisingly cheerful for so early in the day. "If you want to continue that some time when you're not full of applejack, I'm game."

Only when he had moved to sit up as well had he become aware of the headache building between his ears, and the queasiness of his stomach. "That sounds agreeable," he'd managed to say in some semblance of a normal tone of voice, winning another bright smile from her before she'd scrambled out of the tent in search of breakfast.

And ever since... ever since, she'd flirted with him much more frequently than she had before. He was never sure just how to react when she did; the art of flirtation was not one Danarius had ever had him learn, nor was it a skill much practised by the magisters themselves, and certainly _not_ one they ever wasted the performance of on a lowly slave. Not when any magister who desired him and didn't mind owing Danarius a favour could simply ask. Not ask _him_, of course – ask Danarius.

Thankfully she never seemed bothered by his inability to respond in kind, simply smiled warmly at him and kept on with whatever conversations were going on around them.

Drinks arrived – pitchers of ale, though there was also one of wine for Fenris and Aveline to split, and a tankard of small beer for Anders – and snacks, things that could be eaten by hand. Varric dealt the first hand of Diamondback, and conversations dropped off as people focused on their cards. Fenris was cautious with his playing, not liking to lose money when he had so little of it. Anders sat out, merely being there for the company; his spirit wouldn't let him gamble, he claimed, though Fenris sometimes wondered if the real reason why he always sat out was his lack of any coin to spare at all.

Isabela was an aggressive player, Varric and Hawke only somewhat less so, and mostly money moved towards one of the three of them. Aveline was a meticulous player, and while she only rarely won big, she did tend to win a little more than she lost most nights. Carver didn't pay enough attention to the cards, and lost often, but never bet more than coppers, so his losses never added up to much even on nights when he lost steadily. Merrill was an erratic player, and always seemed surprised on the infrequent occasions when she won a hand, though Fenris couldn't help noticing that when she won it was almost always a big win, and when she lost it was only little losses.

It was, all told, a quite pleasant evening, so that he found himself feeling glad that he'd come. It was after midnight before the first few people left – Aveline first of all, mentioning she had guard duty the next morning, and then some time later Merrill decided she'd best be heading home, and Carver had scrambled to his feet, saying he'd see her safely there, since the alienage wasn't all that far from his Uncle Gamlen's house. It had turned into a much faster four-way game after that, between Varric, Fenris, Isabela and Hawke, with Anders hanging over Hawke's shoulder to watch her play. Fenris had felt a little outclassed by the other three players, but kept gamely on, managing to win a little more than he lost.

"And I'm out," Hawke finally declared, pushing a sizable pile of her own coins across to Varric, who'd won the latest hand. "I know to quit while I'm still ahead... even if I'm not as far ahead as I'd hoped to be," she added ruefully, and smiled charmingly as Isabela and Varric laughed. "Coming, Anders?"

"Of course," the other mage said, and the two made their farewells and left.

"I suppose it's time for me to kick you two out," Varric said, smothering a yawn. "Been a good evening, but a long enough one already."

Isabela nodded, and rose to her feet, gathering up her own winnings as she did so. Fenris hastily scooped his up and put them away in one of his belt pouches.

"Thank you, I enjoyed this very much," he told Varric, winning a grin and a nod from the dwarf before he turned and followed Isabela out of the room.

She paused in the hallway, and stretched, then sighed, before turning to look at him. "I'm too awake to want to call it a night just yet," she said, then looked thoughtfully at him. "I know a few good places down near the docks... join me?"

He hesitated, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, then shrugged. "If you'd like."

She smiled warmly. "I'd like. I think it would be fun to show you a little of _my_ world,"she said, and then skipped off down the stairs to the main room of the bar. Fenris hurried after her, and out into the darkened streets. It was late to be out on the streets – well after midnight – but their walk down to the docks was uneventful, the pair of them walking side-by-side in silence, enjoying the cool autumn night. Fenris glanced several times at Isabela, wondering – and a little worried – about what had motivated the sudden invitation.

Her walk changed as they neared the docks, he noticed. It was always confident, but as she strode along the street she seemed to be drawing herself up, so that she stood even taller than she normally did, her walk even more confident, almost challenging somehow. Some of the people they passed clearly knew her, exchanging nods or words in passing,

"Here," she said after a while, and turned in the door of a brightly lit building. A bar, the sign over the door in the shape of a whale. It was both far more crowded and much noisier than any he'd ever been in before. A sailors' bar, by the look of it, the clientele dressed in everything from ragged cutoffs and tattoos to expensive silks, their skins in every shade from milk-pale to dark brown, speaking almost every language of Thedas. Mostly humans, too, though the scattering of elves and pair of dwarves he saw seemed comfortable in their surroundings, the elves displaying little of the wariness he'd normally have expected to see.

Isabela plowed through the crowd, returning greetings, calling out to a few people in turn. Fenris stuck close behind her, not wanting to become separated from her in the crowd, nervously trying to watch every direction at once. Isabela reached the bar at last, adroitly slipping sideways into a narrow space between two men and then slapping the butt of the extra-large and muscular one to one side of her. The sailor started and turned around, an angry expression on his scarred face that transformed into a gap-toothed smile when he spotted her.

"Isa! My heart, where have you been all evening?" he asked, in a voice just shy of a bellow.

"Playing cards, of course. Make some room for my friend here, will you?" she asked, nodding her head toward Fenris.

The giant of a man gave him a head-to-feet look and then grinned even more widely. "Pretty," he said approvingly, then turned away and shoved to one side, clearing just enough room for Fenris to join Isabela at the bar, sandwiched in between the two of them. Isabela had already turned away to flag down one of the three bartenders, and shout an order. Three cups appeared before them in short order; rum for Isabela, a goblet of red wine for Fenris, and a huge tankard of some foamy black drink for the giant; some sort of beer or ale by the smell of it.

Fenris sipped at his cup cautiously, and was surprised to find it was a reasonably decent wine, certainly far better than anything he'd ever been served at the Hanged Man. The giant – Wig seemed to be his name, though possibly it was just a nickname – and Isabela had a brief conversation, something about ships, cargoes, tides, at the end of which Wig drained what was left in his tankard, slammed it down on the bar, nodded to Isabela and left. No sooner had he stepped away when two other people squeezed into the place he'd been, too caught up in their own conversation to so much as glance at Fenris and Isabela.

Isabela finally noticed Fenris' nervousness, and smiled, leaning close to him. "Nothing to be worried about here. At least not at the moment; I'll let you know if that changes."

Fenris smiled thinly at her, and tried to force himself to settle down. It was hard; the crowd, the noise, it stirred uncomfortable memories of the past, and worse, it set off all his bodyguard training as being a dangerous location. Too easy for someone to slip close in such a situation, and even screams might go unnoticed briefly in the din.

Isabela put one hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. "Settle, I say," she said, then dropped the hand. He twitched and gave her a stern look as she groped his ass in passing. Isabela smiled. "Sorry, too good an opportunity to pass by," she said, in an overly innocent tone of voice.

He snorted, then suddenly found himself smiling, realizing he was more pleased than offended by her forwardness. She grinned, and leaned closer, bumping her hip against his. "Finish your drink, I feel like walking, not standing still," she said, then lifted her own almost-empty glass to finish off her own.

He nodded, and drank the remainder of his wine, then followed her back out of the bar. A slower progress than their entry; she stopped twice to talk to people in the crowd, exchanged shouted greetings and insults with several others, clearly in her element.

They worked their way along the waterfront for a while after that. They stopped to watch a dice game in an alley way, Isabela momentarily stepping away from Fenris to drape herself over someone's shoulder and whisper in his ear, money changing hands – from him to her – before she moved on again. Eventually they stopped at another bar, smaller and less noisy, where they sat at a table in a corner and Isabela ordered food; strips of fried fish for herself, some sort of flatbread spread with a green paste and formed into a roll for him. "What is this?" he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"A kind of fruit from northern Antiva; the pulp of it, mashed together with onions, peppers, herbs and a little lime juice. Try it," she urged.

He didn't like the look of it, but when he sniffed at it the smell was reasonably appetizing. He nibbled at it and found it pleasant, the paste surprisingly rich in flavour and texture, the peppers giving it a nice bite. He ate the remainder of it hungrily, licking his fingers clean of the paste that had oozed out of the bread onto his fingers. He looked up from that to find Isabela leaning her chin on one hand and giving him a speculative look, and flushed. She grinned. "Come on," she said, and rose to her feet, leading the way back out.

They wandered for a while longer, finally sitting down to rest again some time later at the end of a quay, sharing a handful of spice-dusted twists of fried dough that Isabela had purchased from a street vendor, still hot from the oil they'd been cooked in. Fenris admired the moonlit harbour for a while, then noticed that Isabela's attention was elsewhere, her eyes looking longingly at a nearby ship.

"You miss sailing?"

"I miss my ship," she said, and sighed. "Even on shore I'm still _Captain_ Isabela, but a captain without a ship or a crew is a sad thing."

"Can't you get another?"

Isabela made a face, nose wrinkling. "Ships cost money, and rather a lot of it. And seeing as my Siren went down with all my cargo and all my cash aboard her, I'm rather low on funds to purchase a new one. Or even a badly used one."

"Do all captains own their own ships?" he asked curiously, vaguely recalling something Varric had once said about trade. He hadn't been paying any real attention at the time, having no interest in trade.

"No, a lot of ships are merchant-owned, and the captain sails for pay; either a share of the profits or a wage or some mix of both. But I don't have the right reputation for those circles; or the right temperament. I'm a pirate. I prey on merchants, I don't hire on to them. Not unless they're willing to pay me an exorbitant wage, anyway," she added with a grin, then popped the last pastry in her mouth, barely chewing before swallowing it down, before licking the grease off her fingers.

Fenris found himself being the one staring now. The way she grinned at him afterwards made him certain that her licking had been entirely deliberate. Then she shifted position, closing the little distance between them so that her thigh was pressed to his. "So..." she said, and paused, giving him a thoughtful look, her face mere inches from his.

He could feel himself flushing self-consciously. "Yes?"

She leaned a bit away for a moment, so she could get her arm out from between them, then leaned up against him, her breast pressing against his upper arm, her hand rising up behind him to toy with his hair, forearm resting against his upper back. "Soooo...," very softly now, her eyes searching his, her brows creasing just slightly. She bit her lower lip for a moment. He found himself holding his breath, watching white teeth pulling across that plump little roll of flesh, wanting to nibble on that lip himself. The lip finally popped free from her teeth, and she leaned a little closer.

He leaned forward too, eyes drifting shut as his lips met hers. He wished he could remember their previous kisses more clearly; he couldn't have said if this one was better or worse than whatever had occurred in the tent. Perhaps more enjoyable simply because he was going to _remember_ this one. Isabela sighed softly, her mouth opening slightly, and, from what bits he could recall from the tent, he tentatively licked at her lips, then sucked her lower lip in and nibbled on it, as he'd wanted to. She laughed softly after a moment, which felt strange when her mouth was pressed to his, then shifted around, pressing herself against him as much as their side-by-side position allowed. He put one of his own arms around her to steady himself, his other hand rising to rest on the curve of her shoulder, thumb and first finger lying along the edge of the heavy gold choker she wore, surprised a little by how soft and warm her skin felt under his palm.

One kiss led to another. Fenris felt lightheaded, elated, and more than a little nervous, torn between wanting more and fearing more. It became too much for him; he flinched away, gasping for breath. Isabela shifted a little away from him, leaving one of her arms draped over his shoulders, her head still close to his. She didn't say anything, didn't do anything, just sat there watching him quietly while he brought himself back under control, stilled his trembling hands.

"Shall we call this an evening now?" she finally asked, softly. "Or do you want to continue?"

He sat still, hands clenching into loose fists, thinking. He did, and he didn't and he _wasn't sure_...

She smiled, rather wistfully, seeming to take an answer from his silence, then rose to her feet. "Come on. Let's walk for a while."

He nodded, and rose as well, the two of them making their way back along the quay to the waterfront, then starting back along it. The bar where they'd eaten was closed and shuttered now, far fewer people out and walking around. Isabela was being more watchful he saw, her eyes flicking to and evaluating each new person or group that came in sight, sometimes exchanging nods in passing but mostly just watching silently and maintaining a careful distance from anyone else. Kirkwall at night was dangerous, even in the areas that remained populated right through the night.

Watching her, he realized that as sure as he wasn't of so many things, he _was_ sure that he wanted to kiss her again. "Isabela..." he said, reaching out and touching her arm.

She turned and looked at him, then slowly smiled, and took his hand, tugging lightly on it to guide him into a shadowed doorway. She pressed herself up against him, moving easily into another kiss, a heated kiss, her hands gliding over the surface of his leathers as if seeking the skin beneath. He moaned, unable to stop himself and feeling embarrassed by the needy sound of it, and at the same time not wanting her to stop. Wanting more than just a kiss, and frightened by the want, by the memories it raised and the ghosts of emotion, fear most of all.

Isabela drew back again, looking into his eyes. "You don't have to be afraid," she said, reaching up to touch his face, fingertips brushing against his cheek. "You want to stop, say stop, you want to go slower, say that too. And I have no problem with faster, either. All right?"

Fenris managed a weak laugh. "All right," he agreed.

Isabela smiled, lips twisting in a smile that was more amused and teasing than anything else. "So... stop? Keep going?"

Fenris took a deep breath. "Keep going. Though perhaps a little slower."

"I can do slow," she agreed, smile widening a little. "Come on... I know somewhere a little more private."

She didn't lead him very far, just a little further along the waterfront and down an alleyway alongside a warehouse. She paused, her body screening what she was doing as she fumbled at a door, and then opened it.

"Did you just pick that lock?" Fenris asked suspiciously.

"Yes. Does it matter? Trust me, I know the warehouse owner and he owes me a few favours, no one is going to complain. Come on in," she said, and stepped through into the darkened interior. Fenris hesitated, then reluctantly followed her inside, not wanting to be caught trespassing and at the same time not wanting this night to end. Not yet.

The door closed. Isabela took his hand, and tugged lightly on it. "This way," she said, and led him through the darkened warehouse, as sure-footed as if it was fully lit. His eyes adjusted enough to make out the lighter wood of the floor, the darker and lighter shapes of crates, barrels, sacks, bales. She stopped, eventually, and released his hand. There was a scraping sound, and he blinked as sparks flew. A little flame flared up; she'd found a tinderbox, and judging by how she'd known exactly where to look for it, he supposed that maybe she was telling the truth about knowing the warehouse owner.

Isabela lit a spill from the flaming tinder, then used that in turn to light a candle-lantern standing on the shelf beside the tinderbox, carefully extinguishing both spill and tinder before picking it up. She smiled at him. "This way," she said again, and led the way across the room, to where a steep staircase led up to a loft area. She didn't climb the stairs, but instead led the way around a dividing wall into the windowless space under them, which proved to be filled with a low stack of baled fleeces, tightly sewn into canvas coverings and smelling of lanolin. Isabela put the candle lantern and her daggers down on a nearby barrel, then climbed up on top of the stack, patting the spot beside her. Fenris only hesitated briefly before taking off his sword and leaning it against the wall nearby, then joining her on top of the bales. They made a firmer mattress than he'd have expected, the fleeces tight-packed into their well-sewn coverings.

Isabela began unbuckling her boots. Fenris watched for a moment, then shifted a little closer. "May I?" he asked, moving one hand hesitantly toward her.

Isabela smiled, and sat back a little. "Go ahead," she said.

He had to take off his own gauntlets first, the sharp-tipped metal of them not being conducive to undoing buckles, certainly not without marking the leather if he attempted it, and he didn't want to do that. The leather was buttery-soft from long use, and for a while he let himself be absorbed in the task of undoing the long row of buckles – all of them, not just the few necessary to enable the boots to be taken off – and then carefully drawing the long lengths of leather off, setting them to one side. It was the first time he'd seen her bare legs, he found himself thinking, and found himself wanting to set his hand to the smooth skin revealed underneath, faintly marked with indentations from the seams and tongue of the boots, a slender chain of flat gold links fastened around one ankle. He realized he was staring, and hastily raised his eyes to her face instead.

Isabela was lounging back on her elbows watching him, a slight smile on her lips. "My turn," she said, her smile widening, an anticipatory expression lighting her face, then she moved, twisting to fold her long legs underneath herself, shifting closer so she could reach the buckles and snaps holding his breastplate in place. He waited as she removed that, moving only to place it aside with his gauntlets, then returned to sitting quietly as she explored the fastenings of the sleeves pieces and bracers, muttering to herself as she tried to see in the dim light of the candle lantern just how they all fastened together. He watched her face as she worked, the intent expression on it, the way the light gilded the curve of her cheek and glinted off the wealth of gold hung at neck and ears. She glanced at at him, and smiled warmly as her eyes met his, and he stopped breathing for a moment, then impulsively leaned forward and kissed her again, just a brief kiss before she drew back with a laugh.

She figured out the fastenings without him needing to help him, making a soft "Hah!" of triumph as she succeeded in removing the first bracer. The second followed, after which she unbuckled the straps holding the sleeves to forearm and upper arm, leaving them hanging loose from the body of the arming jacket. She pushed on his chest, making him lay back on his elbows, and moved to straddle him before setting to work on unfastening the long line of toggles that held the front of the jacket together, her knees and inner thighs a warm weight and pressure across his lap and the outsides of his own thighs. _That_ was nice, and he knew his face was flaming red with embarrassed arousal as her nimble fingers made short work of his fastenings.

"Oh my, but you're a pretty thing," she said in a surprisingly breathless voice as she pushed his jacket open and back over his shoulders, the thin leather sliding to pool behind him, his elbows and lower arms still trapped in the material.

"I am not pretty," he said severely. "Nor a _thing_."

She met his eyes for a moment, then smiled warmly at him again. "No, definitely not a thing. Handsome? Striking? What word would you prefer to _pretty_?"

He flushed even more darkly. "Striking will do, I suppose," he said warily, then shifted his weight from side to side, getting first one arm and then the other free from his jacket and tossing it aside to join the rest of his outfit, aware of how that made his hips shift under her weight, the two of them separated only by one thin layer of leather and two of cloth. Her smile changed into a grin, doubtless aware of the same thing.

"May I touch?" she asked, running her eyes appreciatively up and down his torso.

He drew a deep breath, then nodded, once. "All right," he said, and tensed, watching her hands as they reached for him. She hesitated with them almost-but-not-quite touching the skin of his stomach, then slowly closed the last little distance, fingertips carefully settling on unmarked skin. He brew a sudden shuddering breath, then slowly released it, forcing himself to remain still. She was watching his face now, looking concerned, not at her hands.

"You don't like being touched," she said quietly.

"No," he agreed.

"Do you want to tell me why?"

He considered that for a while, then shook his head. "No," he said, then stretched out on his back, arms folded beneath his head, and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of her fingers resting against his skin, smooth and warm, and on the edge of frightening but not quite, knowing it was _her_ hands on him, not some other's.

"Should I stop?"

"No."

She waited a breath before beginning to slowly move her hands, fingertips trailing almost ticklishly along the unmarked skin between his markings. "Do they hurt?" she asked, voice detached, sounding only mildly curious.

He drew a deep breath, feeling how her hands moved with the rise and fall of his chest. "No. Not right now."

"But they _do_ hurt, at times?"

"Yes."

Silence, her fingers exploring the dip of his stomach, the join of his hips to his torso, then working their way up his side, lifting over each marking to touch down only on smooth skin. "Will it hurt if I touch the lines?" Concerned.

"No," he said, very quietly.

"Then may I touch them?"

He actually had to steel himself a little before managing to answer that, voice a whisper of sound. "Yes."

Her hands lay still a moment, and then slowly flattened out, more of the long length of her fingers coming into contact with his skin, then the palms, settling down gently over both marked and unmarked skin, resting there in quiet contact before she began to move them again, lightly stroking up his sides, then down again. He sighed a long breath out, relaxing, realizing that he'd been almost expecting it to hurt anyway, even knowing that it was merely Isabela, and no mage, no magister, that was settled so warmly across his thighs.

He let his eyes crack open after a while, watching her face as she bent forward over him, the absorbed expression on it as she touched him. Felt himself relaxing under that touch, to his surprise even beginning to enjoy the sensation of being touched so carefully by someone else, so cautiously, her fingers trailing a growing heat in their wake "I will not break," he said hoarsely after a while.

Isabela lifted her gaze to meet his, and grinned suddenly. "No, you're far from fragile," she agreed, and then settled back a little, her hands trailing a last time down the heated skin of his stomach, then lifting to untie the shawl draped around her hips.

He was content to just lie there, relaxed, and watched as her fingers slowly undid and loosened the long lace holding the front of her tunic closed, working from the waist up, until it was loose enough for her to draw off over her head and toss it aside to join scarf and boots, leaving her dressed in just panties and a wealth of gold and gems. She smiled, and leaned down over him, bracing her weight on the bales to either side of him as she bent down. He reached up as she did so, drawing the scarf out of her hair, so it tumbled down around them in a cloud smelling faintly of whatever she'd last washed it with. Something floral, but not cloyingly so. She laughed, and kissed him within the shelter of it, long and warm and welcoming.

More kisses followed that one, and more touches, her touching him, and then, after a while, he began to hesitantly touch her as well, exploring her as she had explored him; the smooth curve of her hip, the warm flesh of her belly, still marked with the indentations from the seams and boning in her outfit, the weight of her breasts, heavier and softer in his hands than he'd expected them to feel. They paused eventually, long enough for her to untie and tug off his leggings and smalls, grinning briefly as she held the bit of fabric up before tossing it aside. "Undyed linen... how boring," she said, and then he undid her underwear in turn, feeling thick-fingered and clumsy as he unhooked the loops of cord that passed around the gaudy buttons at either side of the front of them, buttons ringed with some red gemstone – rubies, garnets, he didn't know nor care – like flowers in shape, before the scrap of silky fabric slid free, to be abandoned with the rest of their garments.

Some part of him felt as if he should be frightened, and yet... and yet he wasn't. This was nothing like any past experience he had memory of, lit by dim candlelight, the only perfumes the lanolin smell of unwashed wool and the scent of her long black hair. He felt like he was floating, somewhere safe and warm, with the touch of her hands holding him safe, the warmth of her lips, the salty taste of her sweat as they moved like waves, bodies surging together until she cried out, and then a little later, he as well, surprised by the pleasure he felt.

They lay there a while, skin cooling, sweat prickling as it dried, until finally she sighed, and shifted position. "We'd better go," she said, regretfully. "Too close to morning."

They rose, and cleaned up as best they could, redressing in silence. Isabela led the way out as she'd led the way in, returning the candle lantern to its shelf and blowing out the stub of candle remaining before taking him by the hand once more and threading her way to the door they'd entered by, re-locking it behind her.

The sky was just beginning to lighten outside, a dawn still mostly grey, though blushing with colour to the east. They walked together along the waterfront, then turned inland, making their way through the gathering light back to the Hanged Man. Isabela stopped there; she had rooms here, he knew.

"Shall I visit you some time?" she asked. "All the way up there in Hightown?"

He smiled at her, with a warmth he wouldn't have felt comfortable showing before the night just past. "I'd like that," he said.

"Then I will," she said, sounding pleased, and turned away. He watched her for a moment, the confident stride of her, the sway of her hips, and smiled again before turning away and heading home.


	3. The Third Time

A hot night, so hot that Fenris didn't want to move, and simply lay stretched out on his bed, wearing nothing but smalls and his leggings and half-heartedly drinking wine. It had been worse out on the Wounded Coast, chasing after Hawke with Anders and Varric in the sticky heat, even the offshore breezes too hot and humid to help at all. Hawke's temper, never at its best these days, had been beyond foul.

Hawke had changed since returning from the Deep Roads without her brother, had changed even further since becoming so deeply involved with Anders afterwards. In some ways it made Fenris feel relieved that his own initial interest in Hawke had never been returned; he still admired the woman, but he no longer thought that a relationship between them would have been pleasant for either of them, not in the long run.

Isabela, on the other hand... he smiled, and stretched, sighing as he thought of warm brown eyes and warmer brown skin, smooth to the touch, of long black hair trailing over his sweaty skin, her tongue tracing his markings, her eyes meeting his with a look both sultry and mischievous...

It made him mutter a curse, missing her presence. She'd been away for over a week, tracking down yet another lead on the relic she was seeking. He wished he knew why it was so important to her, what it was, but it was one subject on which she'd never been willing to talk other than to say it was worth more than enough to get her a new ship, if she could only recover it. They'd spoken of almost everything else to each other since becoming involved. He'd told her much of his own life story now; she'd done the same. He could tell there were things she hadn't told him about, but then there were things he'd never told her either, and not merely because there was such a large part of his life that he couldn't remember at all. But about this relic, she remained largely silent. And obsessed; what she'd spent on leads and bribes trying to track it down was surely almost enough to pay for a ship on its own.

He sighed and rolled over on his side, dismissing the chain of thought as he shifted position to where he could see one of the moons through a gap in the roof. A full moon tonight; and the smaller moon, Satinalia, also near full and visible in the sky not far from the first, like a child trailing along after its parent. No clouds tonight, just moons and stars and sticky summer heat. He watched for a while, listening to the night sounds; the faint murmur of voices coming from surrounding buildings, distant music where one of his noble neighbours was having an after-dark garden party, it being far too hot of late to have one during daylight hours. He wondered how Hawke was, rattling around in the mansion she'd reclaimed for her mother. Anders had moved in, he'd heard, though he had yet to visit the estate himself to know if that was true or just a rumour. The sort of rumour Varric would start, he found himself thinking, and smiled in good humour.

A bit of a cool draft found its way into the room as the night air finally began to cool. He sighed in pleasure, wiggling around so that the cooler air flowed over more of his bare skin, then lay still again, hand resting on the still half-full bottle where it was propped up against his hip. A breeze had started up, rustling the leaves of the trees outside, the vines that crawled up the walls of his building, uncleared for all these years so that it seemed almost more plant than building when everything was in leaf. Some of the flowering vines were in bloom again, thriving in the heat, the air sweet with their perfume.

He realized, after a while, that he was listening to a regular tapping sound, one growing steadily louder. Someone walking along the streets outside, coming closer, the tapping of heel and toe in a rhythm he recognized, not needing to see the person to know whom it was. He smiled, feeling a surge of anticipation. _Isabela_. And rose, hurrying down the stairs to open the front door.

* * *

Isabela strode along the street, glad that things were beginning to cool down. It had been beastly hot all day, even out on the water, and worse when hiding away in a cramped cargo space and hoping not to be found. It had been hours after the ship docked before she'd dared to begin making her way out of the holds, and she'd only just missed being seen as she'd crossed the deck to drop over the side to the docks.

At least she was back in Kirkwall, even if the trip had proven to be yet another dead end. Back, and wanting only to curl up with Fenris again – never mind the heat – and forget her search for a while.

As she walked toward his house, the door swung silently open, a paler form visible against the darkness inside; Fenris, dressed only in his leggings and a welcoming smile. She smiled too, skipping the last few steps, laughing as he closed his arms around her and drew her into a hungry kiss, even the way his sweat-dampened skin stuck to her own feeling pleasant in the moment of reunion.

"Missed me?" she asked when the kiss finally ended.

"Of course," he said, giving her that awkward smile she so adored, head dipping and eyes averting a little, before flicking back to check her reaction. It made her chuckle, and tangle her hands in his hair so that she could kiss him again, properly, a long and deep kiss that had his own hands clinging tightly to her waist.

He chuckled when they parted again, a warm sound, then smiled again, a more confident smile, lips twisting in amusement. "We should take this indoors, or Aveline will be getting complaints again," he said, eyes flicking to something beyond her shoulder.

Isabela laughed, and twisted out of his grip, turning to blow a kiss at the lighted window visible through the branches of a nearby tree, framing the disapproving face of the retired magistrate who lived in one of the neighbouring houses. "He's just jealous," she told him, and then let him lead her inside. As soon as the door was closed he was backing her up against the wall, kissing her hungrily again, much to her pleased delight.

"My," she said, a little breathlessly, when that kiss finally ended. "If you always welcome me back this enthusiastically, I might need to leave a little more often."

Fenris' only response was a displeased growling sound, then he took her by the hand and tugged on it. She willingly followed him to the stairs and up to his room, the pair of them leaving a trail of discarded clothing between its doorway and his bed, laughing again as he pulled her down to straddle his lap, his arms wrapping warm and strong around her waist, face already nuzzling between her breasts.

* * *

Fenris sighed contentedly, half-asleep and happy, draped over top of Isabela, still buried within her, her longs legs wrapped loosely around him. She made a pleased little humming sound, pushing his sweat-soaked hair back from his face and then gently kissed his temple, fingertips toying with his ears again. That drew a pleased sound from him in turn, and made him shift position enough to nuzzle at the side of her neck. She was bare for once of everything save the chain around her ankle and the piercing beneath her lip, the pile of her jewellery shining softly in the moonlight where it lay scattered on a crate beside the bed. He took advantage of that to suck her earlobe into his mouth, nibbling gently at it for a moment, enjoying the way it made her laugh, her hands tighten on his shoulders.

Finally they moved apart, rising long enough to clean themselves before lying down together again, Fenris sitting up against the headboard, Isabela curled up on the bed beside him, her head resting on his chest, an arm and leg draped over him as if to make sure he didn't slip away. There was a time when that had bothered him. Now he rather liked it, and what it implied about her feelings for him; feelings that both of them seemed to have, and which neither of them were comfortable talking about. He shifted a little, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, resting his other hand on her arm where it crossed his belly. She made a contented little sound, snuggling more firmly against him.

"I've been thinking..." she said after a while, then trailed off, thought unspoken.

"Yes?"

"If... _when_ I get a new ship. There's really no reason for you to stay here, is there? You could come with me; we could go places together."

He froze for a moment, feeling shocked. Isabela had always made it very clear that she wasn't looking for love, wasn't willing to allow any sort of long-term commitment between them. Just friendship and sex, as and when they both happened to be available and in the right mood. He'd become used to seeing her with others, and was merely glad that whenever there wasn't someone else around that she was temporarily interested in, she returned to his bed. Now... to even suggest something like _this_...

"What brings this on?" he asked, his voice sounding a little odd even to himself.

"Oh, nothing much, really," she said, and shrugged, sounding and acting unconcerned, as if it was some minor, meaningless thing. "I just thought it might be fun to show you more of the world. You've only seen... what? Minrathous, a bit of Seheron, whatever route you took from there to here..."

"About that, yes," he agreed, mind whirling. He shifted again, turning a little onto his side so he could look at her, but she had her head ducked down a little, the tangled mass of her hair all that was visible. "I... I don't know. Danarius..."

"_Fuck_ Danarius," she interrupted, voice fierce, and twisted around a little herself, tilting her head back to meet his eyes, a faint scowl on her face. "You need to start living your own life, Fenris. You shouldn't just be sitting around in Maker-be-damned Kirkwall waiting for him to come here after you. You've been here how long now? Three years? Four?"

"Close to four," Fenris reluctantly agreed.

"Forget about Danarius, Fenris; either he'll find you or he won't, wherever you are, and you should be concentrating on _enjoying_ your freedom, rather than waiting around in fear that what little you've allowed yourself will be taken from you."

"I can't," Fenris said, and when she started to speak again, set his fingertips delicately against her lips. "No, Isabela. As long as Danarius is alive, I am still a slave. Even with a thousand miles between us, I am still _his_ slave, no matter how much I try to tell myself I am free. I know..." he paused, voice breaking. "I told you of what happened when he found me among the Fog Warriors."

"You killed them," she said quietly.

"Yes. Because he was still my master, even if I had begun to learn what it is to be free. Until I confront him, until I know I can tell him _no _when he commands me, I am still that slave. Until I have seen him dead, preferably by my own hands, I must always fear that I will never stop being his to command. That it will just take a look and a word from him for me to return tamely to his hand, to do... whatever he wished, even if it were to hunt down and kill every single person I have ever thought of as a friend. You see only how constrained a life I lead, how few friends I have allowed myself to have... I see the danger I might be to everyone I know, and fear that every person I allow myself to come to care for is another person I will some day be forced to kill. To allow anyone to get close to me at all... it is a very hard thing to do."

"Oh," she said, softly, and then wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a tight embrace, her head buried against his chest for a while. Finally she lifted her head, met his eyes again, the fierce expression back. "He needs to die."

"I need to kill him," Fenris agreed, then sighed. "At some point he will tire of the cost of sending others after me. He will realize that the only way to retrieve me is to come fetch me himself, that I am likely still... weak, to his direct orders. He will not like it, but having spent so much effort and money already in trying to recapture me, I do not thing think he will just give up. He will come. And when he does... then I must kill him, or die trying, rather than see myself turned against my friends a second time," Fenris said, then touched her cheek, lightly. "Those I love," he whispered.

"Oh, _Fenris_," Isabela said, and hit his arm with her fist, not hard enough to really hurt, but certainly hard enough to be felt. "You _idiot_. You know I told you..."

"...not to let myself fall in love with you. That you won't be bound to any one lover. Can the rain stop itself from falling out of the sky? Can the tides cease responding to the moons?"

"Fool," she said, but smiled, and then hugged him again. And sighed. "I... care for you. I _won't_ use that word! When Danarius comes... if you don't kill him, I will," she said, and her expression was more than fierce now, it was deadly serious, all humour gone for the moment.

Fenris smiled, and tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear, fingertips caressing the edge of it. "You can help," he promised her. "I intend to do it myself, but... it would be good to have others there, if I have enough warning to gather any."

She snorted, but was content with that. They lay in each others arms for a while, then Isabela rose and fetched a half-empty bottle of wine they'd been drinking from earlier, taking a long swallow before rejoining him on the bed and handing it to him. Her mood had changed again, he could see, by the glint in her eye and the smile on her face. It was one of the things he loved about her; her mercurial moods, as changeable as the sea itself.

"So you love me, do you?" she asked, voice a warm husky teasing purr that sent a shiver of desire right through him. "Any parts of me you love in particular? My breasts, perhaps?" she asked, and arched her back and shoulders so they jutted forward. "I've always been told they're a particularly fine pair."

He laughed, and drank from the bottle, then leaned forward to press a somewhat wine-damp kiss to one nipple. "They are quite fine," he agreed. "But there are other parts of you I love even more."

A dark eyebrow arched, her smile widening into a grin. "Something lower down, perhaps?"

He snorted, and smiled. "Several things lower down," he agreed, and handed the bottle back to her, then rose to his knees and moved further down the bed, reaching out to run one hand down her thigh. "Others may stare at your breasts but it's your boots and what they contain that draw _my_ eye," he told her.

She grinned again. "What, you love my legs?" she asked, and lifted the one closest to him.

He smiled, hooking one hand around her shin to lift the leg even higher. "Yes. I love your legs. And the dimples in your knees," he said, and bent down to press a kiss to one, then shifted further down the bed again. "The shape of your ankles, so slender and strong." And another kiss, tickling at her ankle bone with the tip of his tongue, startling a giggle out of her. "Your toes, too," he said, and lifted her foot, thumbs rubbing at the sole of it as he closed his mouth around her toes and sucked lightly.

"_Oh!_" she exclaimed, leg jerking slightly in his grip. "Do that again," she commanded, eyes wide and dark, voice gone even huskier.

He grinned, and complied.

* * *

"Look, it's morning," Isabela said sleepily.

Fenris grunted, not wanting to turn and look, sprawled out exhausted on his stomach, Isabela's head and one arm resting on his back. He felt the whisper of her breath and drag of her hair across his sweaty skin as she turned her own head further.

"Sunrise," she said, and laughed softly. "Did we sleep at all?"

"No," he said, and sighed and turned his head, enough to be able to see out one of the windows beyond the mass of her hair. What little of the sky he could see was mostly a dark blue shade, though it lightened to an almost green colour near the horizon, before being cut off by the surrounding buildings. "You were too insatiable," he said.

That made her laugh. "Me? It takes two, sweetness."

"Or more," he said, and grinned as she laughed again.

"Should we try that some time, perhaps? You and me and... who? Hawke?"

"Not Hawke. She's with Anders, anyway."

"Mmm, true," she said, and rolled over to a more comfortable position on her side, facing him, moving her hands into view. "I suppose there's no point in suggesting Anders either, or Merrill," she continued, folding down fingers as she ticked off names.

He snorted his opinion of those named.

"I doubt the big girl would want to share, especially when she's all in a tizzy over her wedding plans anyway," Isabela continued. "Varric is right out, Bianca doesn't share. A pity your friend Sebastian has those vows of his... he'd be perfect otherwise. I bet I could have so much fun in bed with the two of you," she said, eyes half-lidding as she gave Fenris a speculative look.

He growled, and moved, dragging her close and kissing her hungrily. "_Not_ Sebastian." he told her.

"Oh-ho! Who's the one being insatiable now," she said. "Are you getting naughty images in your head of you and Sebastian and me all in bed together? I know I am."

"Shut up about Sebastian," he told her.

Isabela laughed, and after that they stopped needing words again.


	4. Fourth Time

As soon as he say the grin on Isabela' face, Fenris knew. "You got the ship," he said, trying to maintain a smile when he felt suddenly hollow inside, knowing he should feel happy for her.

"Yes! I have a ship again," Isabela exclaimed. "Oh, you should see her! Long and slender, and the lines of her... she'll have a _beautiful_ turn of speed out on open water."

"How long until you sail?"

"Leaving tomorrow morning... I've already picked up a crew, and we'll be running a cargo down the coast to Ostwick, to try her legs out. I'm not sure where after that; wherever I can get cargoes for, I suppose. I only own half of her right now, I need to raise some money to pay down the rest."

"Half?"

"Varric introduced me to someone willing to put up the rest – anything for a good friend of the Champion and all that," Isabela said, and made a face. "Half is better than none, but I want to own her entire. It's going to take a lot of hard work. And... I suppose you haven't changed your mind about coming along with me?"

"No," Fenris said, regretfully. "I'm not willing to leave Kirkwall yet. Danarius..." He stopped, and sighed.

Isabela smiled crookedly. "Danarius," she said, sounding a little glum, but accepting. "All right. In that case, let's make tonight _count_... it may be a while until we're together again."

Fenris smiled, pleased she was not trying to change his mind. "That sounds good. I'll supply the wine."

Isabela grinned. "I'll supply the food. I have things to do down at the docks still before I'm free; would you like to come see my ship first? Or shall I meet you at your place later? I won't be able to stay the night though, I need to be on my ship in time to leave on the morning tide."

Fenris frowned in thought. "In that case... why don't we eat on board. You can show me your ship."

Isabela grinned. "And _you_ could spend the night in my cabin. Yes, that works. In that case, give me a few hours to finish up on things, and then join me there."

Fenris nodded. "Of course."

She smiled, and squeezed his hand, leaning in to brush a kiss to his cheek before turning and hurrying off back toward the docks. He waited and watched her leave, as he usually did, admiring her confident stride and the sway of her hips, before turning away and making his way back to Hightown.

It was late afternoon when he headed down to the docks himself, having cleaned his armour and bathed, and carrying a large hamper containing a number of straw-wrapped bottles of wine. Not just enough for tonight, but enough for Isabela to have a small supply of fine wines on hand against future need. It was the only gift he could think of to give her that she might find useful.

A couple of coppers and a question led him to the section of the waterfront where Isabela's ship was. It was immediately obvious which one it had to be, of the three docked there. One was a local ship, draped with drying nets and stinking of fish. Another was a tubby single-sailed merchantman, of the type that made regular short runs up and down the coast. The third... the third was a larger, longer ship, its lines clearly built more with speed in mind than cargo space, though given its size it doubtless could easily out-carry the small coaster. A ship capable of striking out from shore, and crossing open sea.

Cargo was still being loaded, a dockside hoist lowering a net full of blocky shapes – crates or bales of some kind – into the hold even as he approached. He spotted Isabela as she moved closer to the rail, her back to him, one hand up to shade her eyes as she spoke to some man – a sailor, by his dress – who was tall and wide enough to make the buxom pirate appear almost as petite as Merrill. The man's eyes flicked to him over her shoulder as Fenris neared the ship, changing to a frown as he approached the gangplank itself.

Isabela turned to see what the man was frowning at and saw him, her face lighting up with a pleased smile. "Fenris!" she called out happily. The man's expression quickly changed from a frown to a more neutral expression.

"Permission to come aboard," he called from dockside, only one foot resting on the base of the tilted gangplank, which despite its singular name was actually several planks in width, with cleats across it for traction and a rope handrail to either side, strung between the ship's railing and a couple of stanchions at the dockside end.

"Permission granted, always," she said, and walked over to meet him as he climbed up to deck level. "That's more than just a bottle or two of wine," she observed, looking over the sizable wicker hamper he was carrying.

"I thought you might find it useful to have some fine vintages to keep on hand," he said. "Impress rich merchants when negotiating and the like."

She grinned briefly. "A good thought. Thank you. Come on, we'll see that put away safe in my cabin, and then I'll give you a tour of my ship," she said, and turned back to the large man, who'd followed her over. "See to the rest of the loading, Mister Hyland."

"Aye, Captain," he said, giving a jerky nod of the head to her and a final dubious look to Fenris before turning away.

"First mate?" Fenris asked as he followed Isabela towards the rear – no, the stern, he corrected himself, having been well-tutored in nautical terms by Isabela one particularly memorable night the year before.

"Yes. A good one, by his reputation; skilled at his trade, imposing enough that he doesn't get much backtalk, and not the sort to bully his subordinates. Unless they earn it, of course."

Fenris' lips twisted slightly. "Of course," he echoed dryly.

Isabela gave him an amused glance over her shoulder, before leading the way down below deck, to her cabin underneath the stern. It was a large space, and largely empty except for a bed barely large enough for two, a chest, a cupboard, a table, and chairs, all very plainly made and well-scarred from use. All but the chairs and chest were bolted in place, and the chest sat in a floor-mounted bracket that would prevent it from sliding around in rough seas. A lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling, and apart from that the only sources of light were a porthole in each side wall and a pair of small windows in the stern wall, each set some distance to either side of where the ship's rudder must be, and framed by grimy curtains.

"This place doesn't seem up to your usual standards," Fenris said, looking around curiously as he set the hamper down on the table.

Isabela made a face, and stepped over to open the cupboard, taking out a pair of goblets. "Not enough time to redecorate. Nor the money to spare for it quite yet. Wait a few voyages, I'll have the place done up right," she said, and grinned at him, then peered into the hamper. "Which shall we drink first?"

"How about this one?" Fenris said, and lifted a dusty bottle out. "A particularly fine vintage. Unless you'd prefer to save it?"

Isabela smiled, a warm and friendly smile. "I'd rather share it with you," she said. Which drew an answering smile from Fenris. He leaned over to exchange a kiss with her before uncorking the bottle and pouring for both of them.

They sat down together at the table, Fenris finding himself feeling more hesitant about speaking than he had since the beginning days of their relationship. Perhaps because this felt like an ending, and he did not want their relationship to end.

Isabela was silent herself for a while, leaning forward with one forearm resting on the edge of the table, her other hand toying idly with the stem of her cup, her head bowed as she looked into the dark pool of deep red wine within. After a while she drew a deep breath, and raised her head to meet his eyes. "Well."

"Well," he echoed, and smiled faintly. "So here we are."

"Yes. For tonight, at least..." she paused, and smiled crookedly. "Sure you don't want to change your mind about coming along?"

"I'm sure," he said quietly, though some small part of him yearned to say yes, to go with her, to see more of the world than Minrathous, the battlefields and jungles of Seheron, the dank hold of a smuggler's ship, Kirkwall...

She nodded, looking regretful, then smiled, a little forced. "Well, then let's enjoy this last night together before I sail."

"You promised to supply the food," Fenris reminded her. "And a tour of your ship."

"So I did," she said. "I'll skin Cook if he's forgotten."

There was a knock at the door. Isabela's face lightened with a smile. "That should be our dinner. We'll need to move the hamper," she added as she rose to her feet.

Fenris nodded, rising as well, closing the basket and setting it aside while Isabela answered the door, which did indeed prove to be their meal being delivered. It took three men to carry it all in, covering the little table in plates, cutlery, and several covered severing dishes, the three of them sneaking looks at Fenris as they did so. Fenris stood quietly, keeping his expression neutral; he little cared what Isabela's crew might think of him, or about their captain's relationship with him. He rejoined Isabela at the table once they'd left, smiling as she removed covers, making approving sounds.

There was a large pie, which proved to be filled with a savoury mix of rabbit, mushrooms, and little pearl onions once Isabela had cut into it. A treat, fresh meat not being something readily available at sea, and almost certainly something Isabela had specifically requested, knowing Fenris' dislike of fish. There was also a cold salad of steamed barley and grilled vegetables with a tart dressing, and a fruit cobbler for their dessert; made of apples and pears by the fragrant scent of it. They demolished almost half the pie and most of the salad, along with a bottle and a half of wine, before deciding to leave the cobbler for later.

"Ready for that tour?" Isabela asked.

Fenris nodded, and followed her out of the cabin, trailing her around the ship, listening to her enthusiastically describe the size of the holds, the amount of sail the ship could carry, her likely speed, how well-made she was. With some ire she talked about how poorly maintained the ship had been by her previous owner, something Isabela intended to remedy in short order, having already laid in the supplies for all the easily reachable woodwork to be sanded and oiled, or scraped and repainted, depending on its nature. The sun was setting by the time Isabela tired of showing him her ship, and led the way back to her cabin again, where they sat and made sizable inroads on the fruit cobbler, as well as finishing off the half-bottle of wine and starting in on a third, a sweet dessert wine.

Fenris was feeling much more at ease by then, and smiled as Isabela rose and walked over to the chest, lifting its lid to take out a bundle of candles. She lit one from the lantern hanging overhead, then circled the room, setting candles in spills of wax, and then lighting them in turn, until the room was filled with golden light. She blew out the lantern when she was done, and closed the curtains, then walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, long legs crossing, hands resting clasped on her knee, a slight smirk on her face. "Join me?" she asked.

Fenris smiled, and rose again to his feet. He caught up the open bottle of wine, walking over to hand it to her. She nodded her head, and lifted the bottle to her lips, keeping her eyes on him as she drank, throat working with her swallows.

He undressed, in no rush, enjoying the avid way her eyes watched him. Being stared at by others bothered him, but being looked at by Isabela – it was different. It was him she was looking at; not just his markings, not just the aesthetics of his form, but _him_. Fenris. Seeing all of him, not just some part of him, knowing his history, not just whatever could be divined from his public face. By the time he was down to just his leggings he was already half-hard from the anticipation.

She put the bottle down on the floor and rose then, reaching out to set one hand on his, stopping him from removing his leggings just yet. "Undress me," she said, voice barely more than a whisper.

He nodded, leaning forward to kiss her first, his hands finding and easily unknotting the shawl draped around her waist as he did so. Her boots next, which required him to go down on one knee before her, well-practised fingers unfastening the boots buckle by buckle, all the way from thigh down to ankle. His nostrils filled with the scent of warm leather, skin, her own increasing excitement as he carefully divested her of the long boots, the leather half-gloves, her elbow guard, the armour that protected one arm. The head scarf next, freeing her hair to tumble around face and shoulders. He paused to finger-comb it, loving the silken texture of it passing through his fingers, drawing a warm and knowing smile from her. He leaned forward and kissed her, her mouth tasting of sweet wine and fruit cobbler.

His fingers trembled as he loosened her laces. He watched his fingers, not her, chewing a little on his lip as he concentrated on the well-practised task. It was she that drew the garment off when he was done, pulling it off over her head and tossing it to the side, before shimmying out of the brief little pair of lace-edged black panties she was wearing underneath. Even after all these years, the shiny dark curls at her groin seemed odd to see, and yet it wasn't as if he had any great experience of women to compare her to. Just Hadriana, who had kept herself smooth, and a handful of female slaves, who being elven had little more than a faint downy fuzz there.

Isabela posed for him, briefly, the heavy gold at wrists and neck and ears reflecting the golden candlelight, the curves of her smooth dark skin highlighted in gold as well. He watched her as avidly as she had watched him, at an inviting motion from her moving to perch on the edge of the bed, where she had been before. He picked up the bottle, draining what was left in it, watching as she carefully removed and set aside her jewellery piece by piece, until all she had left was the piercing below her lip, the gem-set ring in her belly button – a recent acquisition – and the chain around one well-shaped ankle.

The constriction of his pants was almost painful by now. She stepped closer, taking the empty bottle from him, walking over to set it on the table and then returning to him, unselfconscious of her nudity, as comfortable in her skin as she was when fully clothed. Light pressure from one hand set on his shoulder urged him to lay back on the bed, which he happily obliged her by doing, at a further gesture moving further way from the edge of the bed until he was stretched out across it, raised up on his elbows and watching as she moved to straddle his legs.

He drew in air noisily as her fingers set to work on his own laces, his hips lifting a little in response to the way her movements and the tugs as she loosened the laces made the thin leather of his leggings tighten and loosen across his aching cock. She smirked again, obviously well-aware of the effect, and then tugged down his leggings, not removing them but instead only pulling them down to about mid-thigh, leaving his legs trapped within the leather. She untied and pulled off the scrap of white silk underwear he wore – a gift from her – his erection bobbing upwards with its release from the constricting garment.

"Hello pretty thing," she said to it, ignoring his flush of embarrassment as she leaned down to kiss the head of his erection, tongue flicking out in a teasing movement that had him gasping and lifting his hips again. She sat back on her heels, one long-fingered hand closing firmly around him and easily stroking his to fullness, eyes twinkling with mischievous enjoyment as he squirmed and gasped beneath her ministrations. "Shall we see which of us is more insatiable tonight?" she asked him, grinning.

He laughed, a sound broken off as her second hand joined her first, palming over his tip in just the right way to make him moan softly in pleasure. "Evil woman," he managed to gasp out.

"Is that a yes?" she asked, hands stilling, one eyebrow rising, an amused look on her face.

"Yes!" he growled out, hands reaching for her. She laughed throatily, and moved forward, leaning down to kiss him deeply, her own hands busy once again, driving any need for speech completely out of his head.

* * *

The candles were almost all burned down now, just a single one – a recently lit one – burning near the bed. Fenris lay on his back, Isabela draped over him, watching the little flame while stroking her hair, her shoulder, the warm skin of her back. She lay still except for one hand, which was tracing ticklishly along the skin between the markings on his arm. They had not slept, neither wanting to give up even a moment of this night together.

They had finished the last leftovers of their meal some time after midnight, feeding each other spoonfuls of cobbler and drinking from a second bottle of sweet white wine, taking the wine with them when they returned to bed afterwards. Isabela had cracked open the stern windows eventually, to allow the night breeze to come in, making the room both cooler and fresher smelling. It was quiet enough now that Fenris could hear the lapping of waves against the side of the ship, the distant sounds of some dockside altercation, the murmur of voices from up on deck where a pair of sailors kept watch. It was extraordinarily peaceful, just lying here with the weight and warmth of Isabela so close to him. He didn't want this night to end, didn't want the dawn to arrive, and with it her departure.

"You'll be back," he said, voice a little tremulous.

"Of course," she said, and turned her head enough to press a kiss to the line of his collarbone. "Not least because you are here."

That made him smile, and lace his fingers into her hair so that he could lift and tilt her head, exchange a hungry kiss with her.

She laughed when he released her, smiling. "What, not sated yet?"

"Of you? Never," he said, with a level of conviction in his voice that was far from feigned. She laughed again, and squirmed around to kiss him, hands cupping to either side of his face, then drew back, studying his face.

"Come with me."

"I _can't_. No more than you can stay here," he said.

She sighed, and made a face. "Damn you. I'm half-tempted to anyway," she said, and then abruptly lowered her head, hiding her expression as she leaned her forehead against the edge of his jaw, face pressed into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

He closed his arms around her, holding her close, aware – so aware! – of the gust of her breath against his heated skin, the tickle of her eyelashes. She sniffled once or twice, as his hands stroked down her back, over and over again, a gentle petting motion.

"Damn you," she finally repeated, pushing herself upright, away from him, the edges of her lids just slightly reddened. She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of the sheet, then looked at the nearby window, heaving a deep breath. "Morning soon."

"Yes," he agreed, reaching up to touch fingers gently to her cheek. "You'll be back," he said again, firmer now. A promise between them, a conviction.

"Yes," she agreed, and turned her head enough to kiss his fingertips. "And you damn well better be here," she told him, scowling. "If you let that Danarius get the jump on you... I'll never forgive you. I'll hunt you down and kill you myself."

He smiled, helplessly, and then laughed. "You likely would, too," he said, then sat up as well, hand moving to wrap into her hair. "I'll be here, whenever you return."

She smiled back at him, a little sadly. "I'll return whenever I can. It... may be a while." He nodded, and leaned forward to kiss her again, a long, gentle kiss.

They rose, after that, and in silence cleaned themselves up, redressed, helping each other at times and exchanging kisses and touches as they did so, reassurance that the other was still there, still close.

"Well," Isabela finally said, and sighed, and then led the way back up on deck. The sun was rising, the sky all shades of pink, salmon and orange, cloudless. Her crew was emerging from below decks, the docks already busy as a number of vessels, from local fishing boats to other ships, prepared to sail on the morning tide.

"Fair winds and fast voyages," Fenris gruffly wished Isabela, as they reached the top of the gangplank.

"One can hope," Isabela agreed. A final kiss, a brief one. "Watch your back."

"Always," he said, and descended the gangplank, finding a seat on a pile of crates further down the dock. He watched, as Isabela moved around the deck, conferring briefly with her first mate, accepting a steaming mug from a sailor, barking commands afterwards. The gangplank was taken in and stowed, the gap in the rail closed off. All too soon it seemed the ship cast off, moving away from dockside on a single small sail, only raising more canvas as it moved out toward the middle of the harbour.

Isabela looked back only once, arm raising in a gesture of farewell, then turned away again as the ship heeled and turned, riding the tide and the morning land breeze out the long neck of the harbour beneath the statues of weeping slaves. Fenris watched until the ship was lost to sight before finally rising and making his solitary way back up to Hightown, feet silent on the dusty stones.


	5. Fifth Time

Isabela leaned over the map table, examining the chart spread out on the polished wood surface. Highever, tomorrow morning, and then... her finger traced a short line, a smile curving her lips. Kirkwall. At last.

A long time, since she'd set sail from that harbour, almost a full two years ago now. A long path she'd been on ever since, trading her way up and down the eastern coasts, including a little careful piracy – mostly of ships out of Tevinter, though she hadn't scorned to pick off a nice fat Orlesian merchantman a couple of months ago. She glanced smugly around her richly decorated cabin, much of its furnishings taken from the captain's cabins of her victims, the deeply layered carpets that covered most of the floor from the cargo of one of the Tevinter ships, the colourful knotted and shaped silk of them worth a small fortune apiece. Her decor was an eclectic mix of styles and colours, but pleasing to her, as much for the comfort it afforded her as for the pleasant memories of under what circumstances she'd acquired each piece.

The bed had been the last thing she'd replaced. She tried to tell herself it was because she'd been waiting for something as magnificent as the heavily carved Orlesian four-poster bed that she'd found on that last ship, but she knew that wasn't the real reason. She stood still for a long moment, remembering a dark body arching backwards against the sheets of a much smaller and plainer bed, hair so white it made the clean sheets seem dingy, fingers digging into her flesh, a guttural cry...

She shivered, and straightened, carefully rolling up and stowing away the chart, focusing on her movements and not her memories. She opened the sideboard fastened along one wall, removing a dusty bottles from its recesses; one of the last of the Fenris' gifting, carefully hoarded. She hesitated, then took out a cup as well, before climbing up on deck.

It was a still night, bright lit by a single full moon in the sky, the ship anchored at the mouth of some minor river spilling down out of the coastal mountains of Ferelden. She made herself comfortable, perching cross-legged on the corner of the cargo hatch before carefully drawing the cork from the bottle and pouring herself a glass of it. She sniffed it, then sipped, smiling at the strong tart flavour of the well-aged red wine. She looked up at the moon, remembering how moonlight would shine into Fenris' room, streaming through windows and inadequate ceiling alike, bars of silvery light falling across them as they moved together in his bed... she sighed, wondering how he was, wondering if he too was awake, and looking at the same moon. She longed to be back with him, a desire almost as strong as the need that had drawn her to sail away from him.

He was like a tide in her blood, she found herself thinking. Or no, more like one of the moons that drove the tides; her desire for the freedom of the seas the closer, stronger moon, her desire for him the lesser one. Though not lesser by much, she thought, and smiled, and sipped her wine again.

She had, of course, taken other lovers since parting from him. She ran through them in her mind, finding even the handsomest and most skillful of them – an Antivan with warm golden skin, a confidently cheerful smile of remarkably even white teeth, and bright blue eyes – somehow lacking when compared to her memory of a certain scarred and restless warrior, of haunted and haunting green eyes usually hidden behind a fall of raggedly-cut white hair.

She finished her cup of wine, poured herself another, then walked over to stand at the landward rail, studying the darkened shore. She could feel the way the river's current pushed on the ship, urging it to move northwards, away from shore, and smiled wistfully as she imagined a similar current pushing at her, urging her northwards to Kirkwall.

"Soon," she promised herself, and walked back to sit down again, sure it would be some time yet before she managed to sleep.

Highever tomorrow, and then... and then Fenris, assuming he had not found someone else, nor managed to get himself killed, or moved on, or...

She broke off that chain of thought. Highever tomorrow, and then Fenris, she thought sternly, and drank her wine, then lay back on the cold wood of the hatch, watching the stars overhead and wishing she was wrapped in his warm arms.

* * *

Strange to be sailing through the neck again. A homecoming, of sorts, she having stayed in Kirkwall longer than any other place since first leaving home to marry that drunken bastard of a husband. At least she had friends here – real friends – which was more than she could say about most ports she'd ever docked in.

It amused her to be returning at sunset, as she'd departed at sunrise, the sky aglow with colours, the fading sea breeze helping them to make the trip in to the well-sheltered harbour. They made dock in good order, after which there was the Maker-loving paperwork to do; customs inspection, docking fees to pay, not to mention a runner sent off to let a certain moneylender know that she'd be personally delivering the final payment on her ship the next day, to give him time to write up all the paperwork that would free her of any further debt to him and re-register her ship as belonging solely to her. She considered sending a second runner to let Varric know she was returned, and then decided to tell him in person instead. He'd be able to let her know how Fenris was, before she potentially made a fool of herself by hurrying up to Hightown in search of him. And she'd want a bath, before seeing the elf, and perhaps...

She cut off the chain of thought, spoke to Mister Hyland about arranging shore leaves and a watch, and then hurried back down to her quarters long enough to gather her daggers and some spending money, before finally setting off to Lowtown.

It was dark now, the streets lit only by torches and occasional bonfires. Even as long as she'd been away, people recognized her, called out greetings of varying degrees of friendship or enmity, raised hands in welcome or to gesture obscenely. She responded as seemed suitable to each, her pace increasing as she neared the Hanged Man.

She heard the screaming before the place came in view; a bar fight, perhaps, though the tone of the screams seemed rather loud and shrill for that. People were pouring out the door as she neared. She caught a glimpse of a familiar face – Norah – the woman stumbling and almost falling as she exited. Her hand was wrapped around her upper arm, blood trickling out from underneath clutching fingers. Isabela hurried over, pulling her to one side.

"Norah! What's going on?" she asked, even as she peeled the woman's hand away to peer at the deep gash in her arm. "A knife fight?"

"Isabela!" Norah exclaimed, looking shocked. "You're back. No, worse than a knife fight; Hawke's fighting some mage in there... a blood mage, I think. He... his guards... one _exploded_. It was awful. Then _things_ started to appear..." Her voice was shaky, and suddenly her legs gave out.

Isabela caught her, lowered her to the ground, then tore a strip of cloth off of Norah's apron to bind her wounded arm. "Hawke's in there? Who else?"

"Varric, Anders, that elf friend of yours, the warrior..."

"Fenris!" Isabela exclaimed, and abandoned her bandaging, lurching to her feet and hurrying in the door.

There was a grey-haired mage standing in a swirling bubble of protective magic on the far side of the room at the foot of the stairs, watching with a smug expression on his face as a fight swirled around in the centre of the space. Tables, chairs and benches had been knocked over, pushed aside, in once case shattered entirely, good for little more than firewood now. She saw Hawke and Anders fighting back to back, their staffs spinning and thrusting, the pair of them hard-pressed by a group of wraiths. Fenris was a little off to one side, doing his murderously angry best to fight through a group of bodyguards that stood between him and the shielded mage. Varric was down, dead or unconscious, face sheeted with blood from a gash in his forehead.

She cursed, and ducked sideways, sticking to the shadows as much as she could as she began to pick her way around the edges of the room, looking for a chance to make her own lethal contribution to the fight. She caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the stairs behind the mage, for a moment thought it was someone else trying to ambush him, and then realized it was a second mage, a younger one, busy maintaining some spell. A long shot, but... no one had noticed her yet or was guarding against her. She judged the distance carefully, coolly, drew a dagger and threw, dodging behind cover even before her blade sunk deep into the mage's throat, interrupting his casting. The shield around the older mage winked out as the younger one dropped to his knees, then slid bonelessly down the stairs.

"_Danarius!_" Fenris shouted, and killed another of the guards, effortlessly knocking the other two aside and closing on the mage – the Magister, Isabela realized. Fenris' ex-master. The mage raised his own staff just in time to block the infuriated elf's attack.

Isabela looked around for another target. Movement in a corner caught her eye – a woman. An elf, red-headed, watching the fighting with wide, frightened eyes. Not a threat, Isabela decided, and focused on the fight again, watching for an opening, then darting out and slashing open the throat of one of the guards as he started to move toward Fenris' back. She spun away before the remaining guard could close on her, ducked past a disintegrating wraith to fall in with Hawke and Anders.

"Isabela," Hawke gasped out, sounding short of breath, and smiled widely even as she cast another spell, targeting another wraith.

"Good timing," Anders said, sounding pleased.

"I do try," Isabela said, pleased, and drew a throwing knife to toss after the remaining guard to give him something to think about other than Fenris, who had Danarius backed into a corner now, every swing of his sword sending shard and splinters flying as the mage desperately fended him off with his staff.

"No new wraiths," Hawke said a moment later, having dispatched two more in rapid succession.

"Fenris is keeping that magister too busy to summon more," Anders said, sounding pleased. The three of them quickly finished off the remaining wraiths. Anders immediately hurried over to drop to one knee by Varric, tending to the dwarf's injuries, while Hawke and Isabela dealt with the remaining guard and moved to support Fenris.

Not that he needed their help; even as they moved toward him, he knocked the remains of the staff from Danarius' hands, then dropped his sword and grabbed the mage, knotting his fist into the neck of the mage's robes and actually lifting the larger man right off his feet in his anger.

"_You_ are no longer my master," Fenris grated out. And phased his hand, passing it through the mage's neck with an ugly wet snapping sound, before letting his body drop limply to the floor.

He stood there, his back to them, staring at the body sprawled at his feet for a long moment, his chest heaving for breath, then abruptly turned and stalked toward the elven woman still crouched in the corner. "Varania," he grated out, voice heavy with menace.

"Leto, no..." the woman so addressed said, drawing back as much as she could from the advancing elf.

"Do not call me that. It is no longer my name," he responded. "You tried to sell me out to Danarius."

"I had no choice!" she exclaimed, looking terrified as he closed in on her, then looked beyond him at the Hawke and Isabela. "Someone, stop him..."

"Who is this woman, Fenris?" Isabela asked.

He froze for a moment and then turned and stared, looking equal parts shocked and delighted. "Isabela... you're back!"

She smiled. "And just in time, too," she said, and nodded to the body of the younger mage lying sprawled on the stairs, her dagger still piercing his throat.

Fenris snorted, one side of his lips lifting in an amused smile. "So I see," he said. And then, when she looked questioningly back and forth between him and the other elf, sighed, his shoulders hunching. "She is my sister."

"Ah. Family. Can't always live with them, and yet people get so angry if you go around killing them," she said lightly. Fenris gave her an tolerantly amused look, knowing full well the story of how her mother had sold her into marriage, and of the eventual fate of her bastard of a husband. Not that she'd killed him herself, or even had anything to do with those that had arranged his death – beyond a rather memorable night and a lasting friendship ever since with the assassin that had been hired to perform the actual deed – but she might as well have, for all the blame people had been willing to attach to her in the matter.

Fenris turned back to the woman. "Leave," he told her. "I'll kill you if you ever cross paths with me again."

She didn't hesitate, but scrambled to her feet and fled, keeping as much distance between Fenris and herself as she could when she passed him.

Aveline and a squad of the city guard arrived just moments later, too late to do anything but help with the clean-up, which Aveline left to her guardsmen while questioning everyone as to what had happened. She stalked over to stare down at Danarius' corpse upon hearing who he'd been, rolling him over on his back with a push of her booted foot. "Huh. Certainly no loss to us," she said, and glanced at Fenris. "Congratulations," she added, and then went off to talk to another witness.

Fenris moved over to Isabela's side. "You're back."

"Yes."

"You took a long time."

"I know."

He smiled, wistfully. "Come home with me?"

She smiled back, warmly, "Of course."

* * *

Lying together in his bed later, having bathed and eaten and had sex. Night, the moonlight shining in the windows and through the gaps in the increasingly dilapidated roof, a cluster of candles in the corner providing a warm golden glow in competition with the silvery moonlight. Fenris' hand combing through her hair, as he liked to do, her head resting on his chest with one arm draped over him, as she liked to lie.

"Will you be staying?" he asked, tentatively.

"Mmm. A few days, at least, possibly as long as a couple of weeks. I need to sell off my current cargo and pick up something else to sell somewhere else, preferably at a nice juicy profit. And get all the paperwork finished off on my ship, so she's all mine, free and clear."

A brief silence fell. A comfortable one. "Will you come with me when I go this time?" she asked, tilting her head to peer at his face.

Another silence. "Perhaps," he said after a while. "The only things left to keep me here in Kirkwall now is friendships. Hawke, Varric, Sebastian, Aveline, Donnic..."

She smiled, and then pushed herself up on one elbow, studying his face, feeling warmed through just by being in his presence again. "You know I..." She broke off, still unable to bring herself to use that word, and leaned forward, kissing him instead.

Fenris smiled, moving both hands to cup against either side of her face, looking pleased. "I know," he said, and lifted his head to kiss her in return. To her surprise she found herself crying, silently.

"No tears," he said softly, touching his finger to one, lifting it away and tasting it.

"You're one to talk," she pointed out raggedly, seeing his eyes looking suspiciously bright as well. He smiled, and closed his arms tightly around her, drawing her close, burying his face in her hair so that, if he was indeed crying, she couldn't see it, nor could he see her tears either. She hugged him back, clinging to him fiercely.

* * *

Morning. Fenris lay on his side, watching Isabela's sleeping face. It had acquired a few more lines in the two years she'd been away, deeper crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes, fine lines bracketing her generous mouth. Even in sleep it was a face that seemed full of life.

He thought it likely that he'd go with her, when she left Kirkwall again. At least for one voyage, long enough to see if he enjoyed a life at sea, if they didn't tire of too much of each other. Besides, this would be a good season to leave Kirkwall; the autumn winds were even now stripping the leaves off the vines and trees outside, and this place tended to the miserable in winter. And now that Danarius was dead – and wasn't that a heart-lifting thought – there was no real reason for him to remain here in this house, associated with so many ugly memories as it was. And good ones, too, he had to admit... long evenings talking with Sebastian, playing cards with Donnic, nights with Isabela... all right, perhaps he would miss it, at least a little.

But it was time to find himself, to learn who he could be without Danarius' absent presence hanging over him. To find out who Fenris _was_, when not merely a fugitive slave.

Isabela's eyes opened. She smiled, with a sweetness that warmed him right though. "Morning, pretty," she said, voice rough from sleeping.

Fenris laughed. "Don't ever change," he told her.

She smiled again, smugly. "I won't," she promised.


	6. Tracklist

**I'll See Your Heart, and Raise You Mine – Fanmix Listing**

01. Hey Pretty - Poe

02. I Like You – Morrissey

03. She's Thunderstorms – Arctic Monkeys

04. I Want Her, She Wants Me - The Zombies

05. Merge, a Vessel, a Harbour - Great Lake Swimmers

06. Only When I Lose Myself – Depeche Mode

07. Insatiable – Darren Hayes

08. Save Tonight – Eagle Eye Cherry

09. The First Five Times – Stars

10. Oh, How the Boat Drifts - Múm

11. Safe And Sound – Azure Ray

12. Fear and Loathing – Marina and the Diamonds

13. Every Path - Alela Diane

14. Set the Fire to the Third Bar - Snow Patrol ft. Martha Wainwright

15. The Sea and The Rhythm - Iron & Wine

16. New World – Devotchka

17. After All – Sondre Lerche

18. Sleep Tonight - Stars

19. Go Places – The New Pornographers

20. I'll See Your Heart & Raise You Mine - Bell X1

21. What I'm trying to Say - Stars


End file.
